Firebird (The Firebird Trilogy #1) by Jennifer Loring Read Free Book Online Page B

her again.
    The thought brought tears for which she had no explanation. “I suppose he could be.” She turned off the TV so Aleksandr’s name stopped intruding on the conversation, but his presence lingered, an apparition they both refused to acknowledge. And there he would remain.
    “So be careful around him, okay? Get the story. Nail him.”
    “He’s a hockey player, not a serial killer. He didn’t do anything wrong except kiss your drunken fiancée in a bar.”
    Unspoken anger clouded his expression. “I don’t trust the guy. I’m sorry. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
    He’s the one hurting. She shook her head. The conversation had exhausted her, and she saw no benefit in dragging it out further. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have let it happen. So are we okay?”
    “I’m not throwing away five years because this jerk kissed you. I want to marry you. I did yesterday, and I do now.” Joe gave her a gentle kiss she was appalled to find deficient. “So yeah, we’re fine. It’s done and over with.”
    I kissed him back!
    She was doing a fine job of sabotaging herself, no assistance needed. If she could get the memory lodged in her brain of Aleksandr’s green eyes and their longing, their pain, to loosen its grip. If she could forget the way he tasted, the way his body felt against hers. And stop comparing Joe to him.
    Are you happy?
    “I need to go into the office,” she blurted.
    “It’s Saturday afternoon.”
    “I know. But if I don’t get this interview, I’ve got six days to come up with something worthy of saving my job.”
    “Good point. Is there anything I can do?”
    “Not this time. Go ahead and eat dinner without me. I’ll grab something downtown.”
    “Okay. Good luck, babe. I know you’ll figure it out.”
    That made one of them. Aleksandr held her career in his hands. It provided the memory with the bitter flavor she needed to wash it from her mind.
     
    ***
     
    “Stephanie?”
    “Um…hi, Aleksandr.” She glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
    “Hi. I acted like an asshole the other day. My place, the bar, take your pick. I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay,” she said, taken aback. She’d been sure sorry was not part of his vocabulary.
    “I was wondering, do you still have hockey equipment?”
    What an odd question. “Yeah. Why?”
    “Do you know where the Highland Ice Arena is?”
    “Yes.”
    “Meet me there at seven thirty.”
    “I—”
    The call ended.
    What was this? How many more excuses could she come up with?
    Stephanie answered a few emails, then headed home to dig out her equipment. Joe was putting in another late day, so she avoided any problematic explanations as to why she was loading a sports bag with her hockey gear. She flung the bag and stick into the backseat of her ancient Honda Civic and drove to Shoreline, fifteen minutes north of downtown. Stephanie pulled into a spot near Aleksandr’s conspicuous 215,000-dollar black Mercedes-Benz roadster. She retrieved her equipment and walked inside to find the arena empty except for the attendant and the man sitting on the bleachers with a sports bag and stick of his own, locked in a contemplative gaze at the ice.
    She set her equipment down. “How did you rent the place just for us?”
    “It’s an ice arena. I’m a famous hockey player.” He smirked. His face had retained its sweetness despite his debonair looks.
    “Mind telling me what this is about?”
    “I’ve been…not myself. Thought a little friendly competition would be fun.” He nudged her thigh with his stick handle. “I’m an asshole, by the way. Newsflash. Let’s get changed, da ? Don’t want to keep you out too late on a school night.” He winked, and something in her shifted, an ice shelf cleaving off. She walked toward the women’s locker room.
    “I can’t promise there won’t be full contact,” he called after her.
    She shook her head and, biting her lip to keep from smiling, entered the deserted locker